


It's Always Been You

by realjane



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-18 04:04:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13092042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/realjane/pseuds/realjane
Summary: She isn't supposed to know where he is--that's what being on the run means. But Hermione is determined to find her Auror partner and he's not about to let her leave in the middle of a blizzard! And on Christmas Eve, no less.





	It's Always Been You

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing!

_ What in Salazar’s name was she doing out there? _

Draco’s eyes darkened as he watched the cloaked figure lean into the forceful swirls of snowflakes. She shouldn’t know where he was--nobody was supposed to know, except for the Minister. And even he wasn’t supposed to  _ visit. _ He was in hiding for a reason. She wasn’t obliged to know. She wasn’t involved, for a reason, because  _ she _ was at risk--for being his partner, for speaking out in support of his mother’s case, for being born of Muggles, for being the greatest asset to the Golden Trio, for being a meddling, terrifying, intelligent,  _ brilliant _ , boundary-shattering woman. In the blasted snowstorm of the century, she made her way towards his secret hideout… truly, it was insane that she was there. He fought the urge to turn off all the lights in his tiny shanty and pretend that no one was at home. But if she had found him, surely she at least deserved to look him in the eye before he sent her away for good, eh?

He opened the front door and crossed his arms. She was less than fifty yards away, but she might as well have been at his feet; she looked just as he remembered her. Determined. Wild--but calculated. She crumbled in the snow.

As it turns out, house shoes are crap in knee-deep snow, but he leapt into the drifts anyhow. Snow packed beneath the arches of his feet and into the cuffs of his socks--but he didn’t need to feel his feet in order to stay upright--he just needed to keep an eye on where she fell, before the snow drifted over her head. What an idiot. Trudging out here in the snow--surely she knew what she was getting into, she would’ve had to, by virtue of figuring out the location of his hideout. So, what in Merlin’s name had possessed her to dive into the task of finding him?

He slipped a hand underneath her elbow and yanked her onto her feet. She gasped and tugged herself up, countering her weight against his wide and sure stance. Draco hauled her against him and dragged them back through the deep and unending snow, until he finally reached the haven of the covered front porch. Then, and only then, did he dare take a breath. Hermione couldn’t stand; her knees buckled, so Draco’s free arm shot beneath her knees and lifted her. Once they were safely inside the small house, he locked the door, and made a beeline for the kitchen. She was shivering as if she had been plunged into a frozen lake, and just as wet. His own clothes were wet too. Feeling her react to the warmth of his new home made his skin crawl. With goose pimples, and with nerves. She was coherent and cold. 

Draco set her on a hard wooden chair and darted to the small wood-burning stove. He sparked a hot fire in the little potbelly and dove for his mother’s chenille blanket--the one that he always wrapped himself in at night, while reading his pre-bedtime book. Lately, it had been a Muggle classic--a strange author who wrote of conventional societal parties, but who laced every single word with sarcasm. Jane Austen was her name. Draco couldn’t help but admire her obvious disdain for custom. Austen herself would have approved of his uncouth dive into the snowstorm to retrieve his visitor, he was sure of that. She always did love a scandal in the guise of a heroic gesture.

He wrapped the soft blanket around her shoulders and rubbed her arms until she stopped shuddering. But He wasn’t about to be the first one to speak--that was up to her. She was the one who owed an explanation.

She looked up at him, finally, once her shudders had subsided. Her eyes narrowed.

“We’re in the middle of a massive case, and the least you could do is  _ tell me  _ that you’ve got to leave,” she said softly.

He scoffed in surprise.”Hello to you, too, Hermione. I’m fine, thank you for asking. Desperately bored, now that you mention it! Yes, I am enjoying being alive, good point.”

She frowned. “You’re in hiding.”

“Clever.”

“You should have told me.”

“I wasn’t allowed such a luxury,” he sighed. She leaned forward.

“I am supposed to be able to trust my partner,” she said through gritted teeth. 

“It wasn’t an option.” Draco looked down at his feet… his horridly wet feet, which were weighed down by soaked slippers and socks that were burdened by melted snow. He huffed. He couldn’t very well speak about such things while his toes froze to death. He padded out of the kitchen and toed off his slippers before the larger fire in the living room, which was flanked by a simple granite surround and a slate hearth. He sat, then, and cuffed his plaid pyjama trousers.

“Draco, can you please tell me what the devil is going on?” she shouted from the kitchen.

“How did you figure out where I am?” he shouted back.

“You always were shit at concealment charms,” she said. She leaned against the doorway. The green blanket made her eyes stand in a hazel cast, wide and warm, and full of a resentful amount of concern. “And your note was a veritable treasure map.”

She meant his note of retirement, the one he had left on her desk to tell her in the subtlest of terms that he was taking a… sabbatical, so to speak. A break. A holiday from her company. But it hadn’t taken long to discern that he would be in Canada, at a Malfoy-owned property, for the duration of the holiday, while his mother was acquitted on all charges. They had tried to book her for treason, but it had been Hermione’s own words that had spared her a life sentence in Azkaban. Hermione was the number one witness on the subject of traumatic pain--and she was the Ministry’s best asset for accusing “enemies of the state”. Well, she should have been. Had she actually been willing to choose any “side” when evaluating the wife of perhaps the most notorious Death Eater. A woman who had saved the current Minister of Magic’s life during the Great War, in exchange for the status of her son. Hermione saw a humanity within his mother that Draco himself was blind to, up to a certain point. She was also willing to bet her career on the idea that Narcissa Malfoy was a victim. Which meant that her partnership with Draco was in jeopardy--because once Narcissa was acquitted, both wizards and ex-Death Eaters were after him.. “He will never be able to deny the man who sired him,” they had said. All he wanted was some peace.

“You could’ve died out there,” he said, finally.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Well, I’m here now.”

“You won’t be going anywhere until this storm lets up,” he said.

“We’re snowed in.”

“You are,” he agreed. He watched her through heavily-lidded eyes. He sighed. She rested her temple against the door.

“I was counting on you.”

She turned away from him and tugged her blanket tight around her shoulders. She had been reliant on him. He was the one constant, the  _ one _ person who didn’t bullshit her anymore. 

“I am in danger, Hermione,” he said with a sigh. 

“Obviously,” she replied. “But you don’t trust me to help keep you safe--if you did, you would’ve told me.”

“I told you… besides, Potter said--”

“Bollocks.” She breathed.

“Why don’t you understand?” 

“I thought we  _ won _ , you idiot! She didn’t go to Azkaban, we did it.” She threw up her hands in exasperation.

Draco pushed to his feet and strode to her side, pulling on her shoulder. As she turned, he braced one hand on either side of her head. “Thank you,” he said softly. Her eyes softened, too. “My mother wouldn’t have been believed, if you hadn’t spoken for her. But her acquittal necessitated my retreat. You knew that was a possibility, Hermione, you can’t deny that.”

Hermione curled her fingers into the front of his sweatshirt, a cosy thing that she had given him several Christmases ago, when he had finally admitted to liking hers. She leaned into him. Forehead pressed to sternum, death grip on his shirt, tears threatening. Draco cradled her head in the crook of his elbow and hugged her against his chest. 

“Didn’t you trust me?” he whispered. Hermione sniffled into his shirt.

“Always,” she sighed. 

“But, as always, you wondered how you could meddle,” he said, but this time his tone belied a gentle affection... a feeling that had developed over several years of trusting her to always leap before she thought.

“I thought you were  _ hurt _ ,” she corrected.

“You’re going to get us killed. Or worse--relieved of our jobs.” He smiled against her hair as she shook with laughter. He pulled back to look down at her.

“So.” She cleared her throat.

“So,” he repeated back… She stiffened in his grasp as she stepped away. Suddenly, everything seemed just too personal--especially the part where she was willing to walk through a white-out to find him. Partners, they were. She had cast Unforgivable spells for him, in the throes of investigation. She had thrown herself in front of curses to protect him. They had become notorious amongst their Auror compatriots, for their incredibly quick case-solving, and for their crack investigation style. They had a perfect record for solved cases. They were electric. 

“You thought you’d just intimidate Harry into revealing my location, and then what?” he said. “You’d convince me to come home?”

“I’m not trying to take you back there,” she murmured. “I don’t want you to be lonely.”

“Granger, I’m not a child--”

“It doesn’t mean you’re weak if you’re lonely,” she said quickly. “But I do not want you to imagine for one second that you  _ needs _ be alone. I know what I signed on for. I’m not sure that you remember that oath we took nearly three years ago--”

Draco held out his hand, eyebrow raised. He waited for her to grasp his thumb and re-imagine the bond that had cemented them as partners all those years ago. Hermione wrapped her hand in his and squeezed.

“I walked through a bloody blizzard, didn’t I?”

She leaned so close to him that Draco could feel her tiny breaths against his lips. He inclined his head down to hers, and allowed the tip of his nose to brush against the soft skin of her cheek. Her eyes fluttered shut.

“I thought you were a goner,” he admitted, “when you went down in the snow.”

Hermione nuzzled his cheek in the depths of her daze. “I was resting.”

“You were foolish,” he corrected. 

“I was broken without you.”

Draco cupped her cheeks in his hands and looked her squarely in the eye. “Let’s get one thing explicitly clear, Hermione Granger: nothing could ever break you.”

She locked her arms around his neck and hugged him tight. “My feet aren’t touching the ground,” she said dreamily.

Draco shut his eyes and chuckled. “Come on, you’re freezing,” he said. “It’s making you loopy.” Draco pulled her arms away from his neck and inclined his head towards the bath. “I’ll draw you a bath, and then you’ll tell me how you convinced Minister Potter to reveal my haven.”

“I probably won’t tell you,” she said softly. Hermione padded behind him as he pulled her towards his cozy washroom. He pushed her to sit on the lid of the toilet, while he turned the handle to release a stream of hot water, and deployed the wash tub plunger. He sat beside the tub and considered her. She had released the chenille blanket just outside the doorway and now sat, feet propped up on the wall of the tub, humming quietly to herself. She wasn’t entirely back to her old self, but she certainly was more savvy than he had anticipated at this point in her temperature drop. She hugged her arms, just beneath her knees, and pressed her cheek to her knee, looking at him. 

He reddened under her gaze. 

“You don’t like it when I look at you,” she observed. “You never have.”

He shook his head. “You see what you want to--even things that aren’t there.”

“Like what?” 

“What you call ‘goodness’, Granger. Doesn’t exist.” He was suddenly desperately sad at the thought of not living up to her idea of ‘good’, but he truly didn’t feel that he deserved that title. No matter what she thought of it, or of him. 

“Sure it does,” she said. She didn’t say a word more as he turned off the water in her bath, but instead, she let her feet drop to the floor. 

“We’ll see,” he sighed. “Take your bath, and then I’ll properly chastise you for making me retrieve you from the cold in my comfy clothes.”

Hermione nodded silently. Draco closed the washroom door behind himself and left his Auror partner to her warm, lavender-scented bath. He moved into his bedroom and stripped off the dampened pyjamas. She was so foolish--stupid, even. To come here, to pursue her chase in the midst of a massive storm… Draco chose slim cut denim and a warm henley, instead of his intimately cozy tartan trousers, and then made himself useful by stoking the coals in his sitting room fireplace.

His book was waiting for him on the coffee table, a welcome respite from the interruption. But he couldn’t help thinking about her as she hummed away in his clawfoot tub.

He hadn’t told her that he was going away, but… why, really? Because the letter wanted him to leave her be?

Because a part of him needed to hide from her in particular. 

It had taken him so long to gain her trust after they had first been assigned; she had taken the Auror’s oath because Harry had insisted, and not because she believed that Draco Malfoy was a trustworthy partner. She was willing, but not happy. She had been focused on results. Would he hold up his end of the bargain? Would he put in the work? Then, great. She was willing to give her own intelligence to their partnership. But it had been in their second year as partners that she had finally shown him any sort of preference. It had started when the Ministry had encouraged Auror partners to work in quads, as a step towards unity amongst upper level wizards. While they had never truly ‘gotten along’ on a case, she had deferred entirely to his judgment over that of their assigned partners, to the point that they had been punished with several weeks in Pedestrian Crime for ‘unwillingness to collaborate’. She hadn’t been unwilling--she had been  _ unable _ to see how Draco’s covert solution could be outweighed by Ron Weasley’s suggestion to strongarm a small group of mobsters into revealing the sensitive information. She had sided with  _ him _ , with her partner. She had upheld her oath. That had been the beginning of his obsession with proving her  _ right _ .

Nearly five years later, and he was on the run to save her.

His mother’s trial had pushed him over the edge of Granger-induced madness. Narcissa had been on trial for a myriad of conflated charges, the least of which being coercion, and the most being treason against the Wizarding community. Hermione had insisted upon testifying on his Mother’s behalf; Harry, too, could speak to her integrity during the Great War, when she had concealed his life status from the Dark Lord in exchange for information about Draco, and Draco himself had told her of the countless times Narcissa had stood up to his father in the course of events leading up to the Dark Lord’s defeat.

What Granger didn’t know was that he had personally received a letter after his mother’s acquittal, threatening his life. The stipulation of the letter was that he quit himself of Hermione Granger’s company, his partner and the only person he could trust with his darkest secrets, by Christmas, and publicly admit that he had played a part in the holding of Hogwarts students at Malfoy Manor during the war. He had gone to Harry with the letter at once. He wasn’t one to be intimidated by threats, especially from an unknown source, but the newly appointed Minister begged him to hide out, until Hermione’s safety could be assured. If this person wanted him dead, Hermione could be in danger too. The next day, the Daily Prophet had printed a letter from Minister Potter himself, which challenged the scribe of Draco’s death threat to try  _ anything _ to hurt “one of the most respected and accomplished Aurors of their time.” Then, Draco had apparated to his hideout, with Harry’s assurance that he would tell Hermione in good time.

“Hey,” she breathed. She stood beside his chair, wrapped in his own robe, and smiling down at him gently. Draco looked up at her through clouded eyes and held up a hand. She took it. 

“I was so cozy before you had to go and muck it up,” he teased. “In my flannel trousers and everything.”

“Poor baby. I’ll just be going--”

Draco tugged her hard and she fell into his lap with a gasp. Her hand braced on the chair behind his head. Her breath made a single lock of hair dance off of his forehead. His hands wound around her waist. Slowly, deliberately--and torturously--Hermione lowered her body until it pressed along the full length of his muscular form. The robe rode up her thigh, but she didn’t care. Draco’s hand ghosted down her curves to the best of them all--her bum, which raised to meet his exploring fingers. At last, one deliberate finger fell into the crease behind her smooth rear. She gasped.

He pushed up against her chest and stole a kiss from her parted lips. It was her top lip that he worried between his own--and then she flicked her tongue against the tip of his finger as he brushed against her bottom lip. Draco pinned her against the back of the chair. His wayward hand dipped deeper between her blessed cheeks, into her true folds. She straddled his knees to give him better access. Draco forced her to seek his fingertips--his hand retreated to the underside of her thigh and Hermione ground into his lap to find purchase once again.

“I wanted to tell you,” Draco whispered. 

“Wait,” she breathed against his lips. “I have to ask you something. Seriously, Draco.”

She could ask him anything in that moment, it didn’t matter. He would tell her absolutely anything she could ever want to know. If he didn’t know, he’d find out. He would do it, for her. 

The thought sent a horrified shutter through his body--and made him clutch that much tighter to her bared skin, which was now entirely uncovered to him, now that the robe had retreated to her waist.

She covered her breasts. She was suddenly shy under his gaze. Draco grasped her hands and urged the, gently, to lower and reveal her beautiful form, unashamed. 

“Why did you leave?”

Draco smiled softly. He held out his arms and invited her into his embrace. Hermione took the invitation readily and settled into the safety of his firm comfort.

“Because I cannot, for the life of me,” she breathed, “imagine a world in which I exist without you.” 

Draco’s sniffed away the very thought. “I got a letter,” he explained. “Disappear, or die, basically.”

“You should have told me,” she said.

“I assumed you would be in danger, too.”

“Give me some credit, here,” she scoffed. “I am more than capable of taking care of myself,  _ and _ I found you. I could have found a solution, too.”

“So Harry  _ didn’t _ tell you.”

“No, despite my haunting his office for the last week,” she giggled.

“How did you do it?”

Hermione pushed back from him and brushed his cheek with her fingertips. He wanted to gaze at her beautiful body, but more than that, he just wanted to hold her and never let go. “Do you remember the night after the Oath? We got smashed and I made you cut your palm and press it to mine, so we literally shared blood.”

“You kissed me that night, too.”

“You definitely kissed  _ me _ ,” she said with a grin. “You suggested an Unbreakable Vow to make sure we always had each other’s back, but I told you it wasn’t necessary. As long as your blood  was in my veins, I’d be able to find you.”

“That’s a recipe for blood-borne illness, Granger.”

“I didn’t say it was a  _ good idea _ ,” she laughed. “And I remembered that you told me about your three-times-great grandfather’s cabin in Canada and how it’s ‘just perfect for escaping the cares of the world.’”

“We’ll blame the whiskey for that. And?” he said, gesturing around himself to the modest cabin. 

“I couldn’t care less about the rest of the world.”

Draco lifted her once again, but only so he could scoot to the edge of the chair and place his feet on the ground. He held her so tightly that she winced and let out a little groan. He quickly loosened his arms and pressed his forehead to her bare shoulder. “What day is it?” he asked.

“Christmas Eve.”

He looked up at her. “You’re supposed to be drunk on cider in the Weasel den right now, like you do every year, opening presents in recycled wrapping paper, letting Ron touch your knee in a last ditch effort to win you back, and not thinking anything about our case, or about Me.”

“What concerns me about that statement is that you think I could pretend to have a normal Christmas with my partner  _ missing _ .”

“I’m sure you lost sleep,” he scoffed, shaking his head.

“Worse than that,” she said sadly. Draco cast a wary glance up at her. “I kept having nightmares that you were dead. I’d walk out of my bedroom, thinking it was morning, and there you’d be: hanging from my ceiling, almost gone. But I was too weak to lift you and ease the rope, so I’d feel you go limp while my arms were around your legs.”

“Merlin,” he muttered. Hermione cupped his cheeks between her hands.

“Whatever is going on, we have to face it together, because I can’t spend any more nights thinking I’ve lost you,” she said.

“I’m  _ that _ delightful, am I?”

“You’re an idiot.”

His eyes softened. Hermione kissed him again, gently. “How shall we spend a Christmas Eve in hiding, then?” he asked.

“Tell me something, first.”

“Okay.”

She held out her hand and he grasped it. “Why did you pretend for the last five years?”

“What?”

“That you didn’t care about me,” she sniffed. Draco’s brow furrowed.

“Grang--Hermione, you can’t be serious,” he said. “I’ve spent the last five years desperate with caring about you. If anything, I cared too much--”

She scooted off his lap and pulled the shoulders of his robe up again. Her eyes were shining. “Oh.”

“Yes.  _ Oh. _ Let’s be clear, here: I don’t care what anyone in the world thinks about me, except for you.” He stood, carding a hand through his blond coif. “For Salazar’s sake, Hermione, you make me better. You make me forget about all of the noise. Nevermind that you’re my workmate, you’re my bloody  _ partner _ … any man would be lucky to stand beside you, but it’s  _ me _ Potter chose, and I have spent every day trying to prove that I deserve it. You’re the reason I’m still breathing.”

“I nearly gave you CPR that time we busted that goblin gambling ring.”

Draco was caught off guard and laughed heartily. “Gods, I am just… If I liked you any less, I might be able to talk about it more.”

“Happy Christmas to me,” she peeped. 

He knelt before her. “I couldn’t have imagined making any kind of declaration to you, for fear of ruining what we had. That’s all.”

Hermione swiped a hot tear off of her cheek. “Dammit, you’ve made me leak,” she said. 

There wasn’t anything more to say on the matter, not without seeming insincere. Draco offered her his sleeve to wipe her face, but Hermione grasped the hem of his comfy shirt and pulled it up and over his head, slowly, baring his torso to her. She used the soft fabric to dab at her eyes, while Draco busied himself with the tie on the robe around her waist. The sides of the robe fell open. He rubbed his hands together to warm them up and then ghosted his fingertips beneath the terry cloth to her soft skin. She shivered, even though she wasn’t cold anymore. His thumbs graced the sides of her breasts and then he slipped the robe off of her shoulders, so she, too, was bared before him.

Draco pulled her against his naked chest and kissed her soundly. His tongue danced along her bottom lip and Hermione deepened the kiss, tangling her hands in his hair and tugging tight enough to make him growl. “What do you like?” she whispered.

“I like some modicum of control,” he replied. 

“Surprise, surprise,” she giggled sarcastically. He grinned against her and his teeth teased her bottom lip. “You know what I meant.”

“I think I’d like to pleasure you first, see you come undone… but how?”

“There’s something I’ve always wanted to try with the right person,” she said with a gasp; Draco’s fingers found her nipples and came to rest beneath the curve of her breasts.

“Tell me.”

“Do you have any candles?”

Draco breathed out sharply and pressed closer to her. “Wax?” he asked darkly. She nodded. 

“Have you ever done anything like that?” she whispered. Her cheeks were pink, which belied her embarrassment to even suggest such a thing… but she was wild with wanting him, and to try something so… exciting. “Like, any of those times you disappeared with a beautiful woman after the Ministry Christmas party?”

“Are you sure you want me to answer that?” He asked, nibbling on her ear. His fingers found her center; she was wet and aching for him.

“I’d like to know if you’re a certified member of the fire brigade--yes, you moron!” she exclaimed with a gasp. “I want you to tell me that you’ll use wax to turn me inside me out, because you already know how to do it properly--Christ, this is the least sexy way I could possibly have brought it up. I’m literally asking you to play with fire.” She covered her face with her hands and turned beet red.

“I’ve done it more than once,” he said simply. “Have  _ you _ ever done anything like that?”

“I own an antique edition of the Kama Sutra, I’ve been able to do the splits since I was nine, and I am going to kill you if you don’t touch me again--”

Draco smashed his lips against hers and lifted her abruptly, pulling her down to straddle him on the floor. “Wax later,” he gasped as her hands found the waistband of his denim jeans.

“What do you need?” she asked.

“You, now,” he said. Hermione unbuttoned his jeans and released him. He needed her so badly to be next to him, with him--she brushed his cheek. 

“What?”

“Happy Christmas to  _ me _ , Granger.” His eyes fluttered shut as she stroked him. He flipped them over and pushed inside of her.

“Oh gods,” she moaned against his mouth. “Please move,  _ now _ .”

Draco rolled his hips into hers; it was bliss to be inside her. He couldn’t get enough of her. Draco hooked one of her knees over his arm and picked up his grueling pace.

“How long have you wanted this?” he murmured.

“It’s always been you,” she said. “ _ Fuck _ , Draco!”

“The first time we solved a case,” he groaned. Her insides fluttered around him as he built her towards her release. “When we got drunk. I wanted to fuck you over my desk.”

“Why didn’t you?” She lowered her leg and held up a finger for him to pause. Draco raised an eyebrow but allowed her to shimmy away from him so she could turn over. Draco aligned himself with her again and drove home. 

“Gods! You. Were. With. Weasley.” He punctuated each word with a punishing thrust and pressed her shoulders down until her cheek was pressed to his rug.

“When? At the Christmas party?”

Draco stilled, buried deep inside her. He fisted a hand in her hair experimentally, waiting to see her reaction. She moaned at each little tug of her hair. “You danced with him in that blasted red mini dress. I thought I was going to come in my tuxedo pants looking at your arse swaying.”

“You could have asked me to dance.” She pushed back against him. “Or fucked me that time I asked you to, after the werewolf case.”

Draco tugged on the back of her head and urged her to sit into him. Her back arched and she pushed herself up so her back was flush to his chest. He snaked an arm around her waist, beneath her breasts. “I don’t remember that,” he said against her temple. She ground her hips into his and Draco resumed his hard thrusts into her core.

“I told you that I needed you to help me,” she said. Her hand found the back of his head, while the other found his bum, which forced her chest to jut forward. Draco took the opportunity in hand and pinched the nearest nipple. “I literally opened my legs. You helped me up, hugged me, and walked away to ‘gather evidence’.”

Draco’s eyes closed in realization. “Oh, I am a complete  _ idiot _ ,” he groaned. He gave her hair a rough tug and tried to pound away the feeling that he had spent five years with blue balls because he couldn’t take a bloody hint.

“I need more,” she gasped. “If you come, I’ll explode.”

“Scratch me,” he said. 

Hermione ran her nails up his thigh to test it and he shivered. She took another pass, this time allowing the sharps of her finely manicured talons to scratch deep welts in his leg. Draco let out a shout of ecstasy and released into her, thrusting wildly as he felt her begin to contract around him. He found her clit and rolled it between his fingers. Hermione cried out and impaled herself on him until she came herself. She collapsed against him. 

Draco could barely keep them upright in the aftershock of his orgasm. He buried his nose in her neck and pressed one hand into the armchair to keep from falling over.

“Merlin’s left one,” she whispered breathlessly. Draco shook with laughter and she couldn’t help but join him. 

“You are, by far, the one person who has ever made me come that hard,” he said, pressing a kiss behind her ear.

“I’m very talented.”

“Mmm. So you are.” He felt the loss of her as she disentangled herself from his arms and retrieved his robe from the chair. She looked down at him coyly. 

“How long do you expect to be in hiding?” she asked.

Draco sat back and covered himself with his hands. “Don’t know. Until Potter figures out who wants me dead. Which could be a very long list of people.”

“So it could be a while,” she said.

“Yes. He said he would owl me with any new information.” 

Hermione nodded. He reddened under her gaze, so she handed him his robe and padded to the washroom. She closed the door to do her business and Draco wrapped himself in the cozy black robe. He leaned against the washroom door frame. She opened the door, wrapped in one of his green towels. Draco leaned down and kissed her.

“You’ve made me hungry,” he said with a grin. 

“Are you going to make me a Christmas feast?” She wrapped her arms around his waist.

“Christmas spaghetti?”

“Delicious.”

“Good.” He kissed her forehead. “You can borrow a shirt of mine while your clothes are drying, but meanwhile? I’d like to make myself presentable once again, if you don’t mind.”

Hermione stepped to the side so he could enter the washroom and left him to his business.

The next time he saw her, Hermione was wearing one of his old Slytherin Quidditch jerseys, standing in front of his kitchen sink, gazing dreamily out the window. Draco wrapped both arms around her waist. “Thank Gods you remembered my drunken rambling about this place,” he said.

“I thought it was a fifty-fifty chance you’d be annoyed with me, but I just couldn’t bare the thought of you being alone over Christmas,” she said.

“Would’ve been alone anyway, if I had been home,” he said with a shrug.

“Not if I had anything to say about it.”

“Is that so?”

She turned in his arms and leaned up to kiss him. “I was working up the courage to ask you to go out with me for Christmas curry, which is why I found out that you were gone.”

“A pity date for little ole’ me?”

She slapped his arm. “No. A real date, with my real partner.”

“Granger--” He stopped and gazed at her lovingly. “I like you.”

“I like you too.”

“That’s a wonder,” he scoffed. It was the first time in his memory that someone had deliberately chosen him--no strings, no ultimatums, just him. It was his favorite Christmas in memory.

**Author's Note:**

> Whee! Oh, boy.


End file.
